Raven Mask (22 page)

“That’s not really convenient,” Rosalin said. “We should wait a few blocks away. We’ll let Kassandra find the church, do a little spying, and then we’ll follow her in.”

If I really, truly wanted to avoid a little lesson session with Zaphara I could’ve told someone to ditch some clothes for me in the alley, but again, that was out of the way, and I could still get caught. Being charged with public indecency isn’t really my cup of coffee.

“Let’s just do it and get it over with.”

“Shall we go somewhere more private?”

“Yeah, that would be ideal.”

“You may use my room,” Lenorre said. “I will be there in a moment.”

I got up and went to her, standing on my tiptoes to press a gentle kiss against her pale cheek. “Wish me luck.”

“All of the luck in the world,” she said, her fingertips stroking over my shirt and to my lower back before I regretfully turned and followed Zaphara to Lenorre’s bedroom.

On the way down, I kept reminding myself it was worth it.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I was sitting on the edge of Lenorre’s bed, waiting for Zaphara’s instructions, when Zaphara strode across the room, silent and deadly in her boots. She sat on the couch. “Come here,” she said, “sit in the chair.”

I moved, falling back into the matching velvet armchair, and kept my mouth closed.

“Anything you do not wish to lose in your change, I suggest you remove now.”

I didn’t want to ditch the clothes, but I had to ditch the gun. I wasn’t willing to lose the Pro.40 or the small-of-the-back holster. I took the gun and holster off the belt, laying it on the empty piece of couch closest to me, then unbuckled the belt and tossed it on the couch as well. I unbuttoned the overshirt and draped it on the back of the chair.

“You might want to remove more than that, little witch.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, unlacing the knee-high combat boots and kicking them off to the side. “Satisfied?”

Zaphara shook her head, the long tresses of her purple-black hair dancing across her shoulders. “We must start with less. Once you gain a feel for how this particular magic works you will probably catch on more quickly.” She gave a nudge of her head in my direction. “Remove your pants and shirt. Your undergarments will be sufficient to practice with.”

“This better not be one of your damn schemes,” I said, pushing the black jeans down my legs. I kicked them off into the middle of the room, then raised the shirt over my head and let it fall to the floor.

“Are you capable of shifting at will?”

“I’ve done it a few times, yes.”

“Do it.”

I drew in a long breath through my nostrils. Calling upon the wolf and raven were two different things, like embracing two different elements. Where the wolf was earthy and solid, becoming the raven was like trying to capture fire and air. I went to my knees in front of the armchair, forcing my mind to quiet, forcing myself to look within. I searched for that place inside my soul that contained the spiraling essence of raven.

Feathers as soft as silk…

Eyes that were cunning and wise…

I felt heat then, mingling with an unseen breeze, like the soft fanning of ebony wings.

Whether I opened myself up or the raven soared through me, I was not sure. The world fell away, until I could no longer smell the air-conditioned room. I opened my eyes, having seen the shadows dance around me before… I watched them swell and stretch around me now, until everything in the room was in blackness, until even my body was shrouded in the depths of misty shadows like some magical veil.

A shadow doesn’t feel like anything, not to the skin. The darkness that rose around me was not cool or warm. I had no logical explanation for the magic in my veins. Zaphara’s explanation made more sense than anything. I was not human. I was magical, and I had two options. I could accept and embrace the blood in my veins, or I could ignore and despise it. Why should I ignore the truth? I’ve always firmly believed in that. The first goal of a witch is “Know Thyself.” I knew myself, and so could travel the path of acceptance. At least, that’s what I believed. In practice, I could be a bit more stubborn than that. But I was coming to terms with my wolf and my raven. If I could do a bit more to make those terms work for me instead of against me, I would.

I felt no shifting of bones, lengthening of the spine, or any bursting sensation like when the wolf surfaced. I gave myself over to the raven and allowed my mind to slip, recalling what it felt like to be the raven, and somewhere in the middle, she and I met. I became her, and she in turn became me. We were animal and woman, bound together by blood and magic.

I shook my feathers, as if I’d just come in out of the rain. There was no rain in the bedroom, but when the shadows left, a dampness clung to my soul, a trickling sensation that I could only presume was the after-effects of the magic.

“That you have gained the control to summon the raven at will is a very good sign,” Zaphara said. I cocked my head and her face loomed in my vision. I did a little hop and skip, catching enough air beneath my wings to perch on the arm of the chair. I watched her, waiting intently for her instructions.

“The ability to harness magic comes at an early age for the fey,” she continued. “With fey blood comes fey magic.”

“You’re about to lose me,” I clicked at her.

“You understand, but wonder what that has to do with you?”

I bobbed my head.

“Your blood may be diluted, but I am surprised you had no signs during your childhood. By the way, Kassandra, do you think I can understand you?”

“I don’t know,” I smarted off in a series of clacks. “Can you?” My remark definitely lost its effect coming from a beak.

“If you are not able to force words from your raven mouth,” she leaned forward, her gaze intensifying, “you need to learn to project your thoughts onto the one you are speaking with. If you do not become adept at one or the other, you will not be able to communicate beyond the raven’s natural ability.”

I cocked my head to the other side and blinked at her.

Like this
. Her voice echoed not in my ears, but through my mind, like some great gong being struck. Her mouth was closed. Her eyes were suddenly more like the gemstones they mimicked, like gazing through the stone itself, never-ending, multifaceted. It was at once a beautiful and disturbing sight.

Do you think you can accomplish this much before we pursue more complicated endeavors?

I felt like I was getting a headache. If I could’ve glared at her, I would’ve. I didn’t like having her voice in my head. No matter what form I was in, it was unnerving. How many humans were diagnosed with schizophrenia when they were actually being toyed with by faeries?

Kassandra,
her sultry voice flowed through my mind,
you must visualize. All magic comes with the ability to use visualization as a focal point. You are a witch, surely you know how.

I pushed my words at her, pictured them resounding off the walls of her brain like she was doing to me.

Volume down, I said.

She looked at me with an empty expression.

So sorry.
Her words were a sarcastic hiss.

Whatever. How do you not hear all of my thoughts?

A thought directed to oneself stays within. It is when you direct your thoughts outward that you project them, that I grasp them.

Greeeat.

When you shift back, do you do so by visualization?

I had to think about it. The first time I’d accidentally shifted, I returned by visualizing and remembering what it felt like to be human. Anytime I had tried after that, I did so intentionally using visualization as a guide.

Yes.

Then the problem of your nudity lies in that you are not pulling your clothes back with you.

What do you mean?

Are you visualizing them, or merely your human skin?

I guess
I focus on what it feels like to be human.

Then focus on what it feels like to be human and clothed.

It’s that easy?

Zaphara’s head dipped forward.

I tried to shrug and nearly succeeded in losing my balance. I’d have to avoid that particular move.

Here goes…

I hopped into the seat, spreading my wings, and brought images to my mind. But most important, I remembered what it felt like to be human, to feel my blood pounding through my veins, to feel the cushion of the chair beneath my ass. I brought the small sensations to mind, such as the coolness of the air-conditioned room against my skin. I let the physical feelings of the raven fall away, separating myself from her, like peeling off a cloak. I released the feeling of the seat beneath my clawed feet and imagined sitting, but this time, it was different. I had been wearing clothes, granted not much, but enough that I focused on what I had been wearing. The way the straps of the bra felt on my shoulders. The way the fabric felt between my legs, covering, shielding. I sensed the shadows rising.

Do you think you can do that with more than undergarments?

She was still in my head.

I opened my human mouth and said, “Zaphara, get the fuck out of my mind.”

“As you wish,” she said, and a sly look filled her eyes. “Your answer?”

I ran my hands over my body, and sure enough…I’d emerged in the same undergarments I’d shifted in. I gave a sigh of relief. “Yes, I think so. That was easier than I expected it to be.”

“Aye, ’tis not a difficult task. There are far more onerous ones.”

“Peachy,” I said, then had to ask, “Will everyone understand me if I project my thoughts?”

She shook her head. “A human will not comprehend. A gifted psychic might, but a human will not grasp your thoughts unless they have some magical training.”

“What about Rosalin and Lenorre? Would they understand?”

The door to the bedroom opened as Lenorre entered the room. “I will understand,” she said. “I take it she succeeded?” She wasn’t asking me the question, but she turned to look me up and down, confirming I was wearing clothes, kind of.

“Yes,” Zaphara said and stood, her eyes searching my face. They no longer had their crystalline quality. “If you are capable of holding the image in your mind, you will return from one shape to the other in the attire. Yet,” she said, “if you shift nude you will not have any clothes to bring over.”

“What if the clothes are destroyed?”

“You may bring them back whole.”

“I can’t believe I’m asking this, but back from where?”

“The Other World.” She laughed at my expression. “That was not a question you were ready to have answered. You will grasp the meaning in time.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure I want to grasp the meaning.”

“You will,” Lenorre said. “It is in your blood.”

I looked at her and sighed.

“We will not bother going by the club first,” Lenorre explained. “We will go and hunt the strays that have trespassed in our territory. Kassandra,” she looked at me with a commanding air about her, “get dressed. We leave in a half hour.”

I said the only thing I could. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Lenorre and Zaphara both looked at me with interest and perplexity.

“What?” I asked, then grinned. “Oh, sorry. Aye, aye, Countess?”

“You never cease to be a smart-ass, do you?” Zaphara asked.

“Rarely.”

Lenorre shot me a disbelieving look. “Very rarely.”

I gave her a soft smile. “You know me so well.”

Lenorre laughed. “Better than you think I do.”

“I believe you.” She crouched to pick up my clothes and offered them to me with one hand. “Thanks.” I took them and slipped the shirt on over my head.

I could shift into my human form without showing up naked in a room full of vampires.

Goddess be praised.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I was driving, with Lenorre in the passenger seat next to me, and Zaphara, Rosalin, and Eris in the backseat. Rupert followed us in his sporty Cobra Mustang. An awkward feeling fluttered in my stomach. Something about our plan wasn’t right.

I sighed. It was surprisingly quiet for a car full of five people. Okay, two werewolves, two vampires, and a faerie. Not really people at all. Maybe silence did make sense.

“Something is wrong,” I said, watching Lenorre shift in her seat.

“What do you mean?”

“I can sense it. Something’s wrong with our plan. It’s going to fall through.” It’s difficult to explain unease when you can’t pinpoint the reason for it. There’s no logic behind sensing something unexpected is about to happen. You merely sense it and know.

My forearms felt naked. Usually, when I went out on a hunt I wore the wrist sheaths Rupert had given me a few years ago. Most wrist sheaths come with throwing knives, but the ones I had left at home were more like miniature daggers that covered my forearms completely. I had a moment to regret not wearing them, but I’d made a quick decision. The gun at the small of my back was a comfort, but it, like most weapons, was a human comfort, a human need. I may be a werewolf, but I’m not invincible. The pentacle scar on my chest served as a daily reminder of my weakness. I felt vulnerable, and I couldn’t figure out why.